


Moon Drop

by seiyuna



Category: Hunter X Hunter
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gods & Goddesses, Hades and Persephone, M/M, Mythology References, References to Canon, Rise to Power
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-20
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-06-13 08:42:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,362
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15360624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seiyuna/pseuds/seiyuna
Summary: “If you accompany me, it may be impossible for you to return to the land of the living.”Kurapika wanted to say,try me.He made his own destiny, daring to defy what the higher beings had planned for him. He would not wither as the flowers did, would not betray his promises, and certainly would not fail a second time.“Take me there.”The first time Kurapika steps into the underworld, he steps out as a god.





	1. Chapter 1

 

Mother, he is a gentleman.  
He is a builder with bricks of moonlight.  
He knows the secret places of the earth.  
He washes the sleep from the eyes of the souls.  
He lets them look on beauty.  
He lets them tell him they hate him.  
In the mornings, I gather berries and apples.  
I scrub his back with rind.  
I weave spider-spit, eyelash.  
He talks in his sleep: _pudding, fire, discus_ ,  
the things he misses.

 _—_ Tara Mae Mulroy _, Persephone Writes to Her Mother_

 

* * *

  

Kurapika felt the presence of death even before he saw him.

His hand lingered on the metal doorknob as he hesitated to enter the room, the other clutching onto a vase of flowers. It always unsettled him, coming here, not because he harbored any ill feelings towards the employees, but because of the sharp scent of antiseptic, the white lights beaming in the stark hallways, the worn faces of the physicians. Everything was the opposite of what visitors should be subjected to when they were working up the courage to face the worst scenarios their minds could conjure.

If something had happened, surely Kurapika would have been informed. He peered down at the flowers one more time, counting all the bright red petals that radiated from their centers, breathing in their calm fragrance. Pushing past the heavy, sinking feeling that weighed at his heart, he opened the door. He was welcomed by the familiar whirring of the ventilator and the quiet darkness of Pairo’s room, but something _—s_ _omething_ had changed.

The air shifted, the windows were open, exposing the view of Yorknew’s evening landscape. The cotton curtains gently billowed with the passing breeze and beneath the shroud of the curtains, another figure was present. He leaned against the stool of the window, clad in a black suit, nearly funereal, basking in the lights of skyscrapers. He did not turn to Kurapika, did not speak to him, and instead, he addressed Pairo where he lay still against sterile bedsheets.

“Pairo,” the man said quietly, a scarlet tome resting in his hands, its pages stirring with the wind. Pairo did not answer. The ventilator did so on his behalf. “Your time here has ended.”

Kurapika let go.

The vase shattered at his feet.

Something devastating, something much like _fear_ seized him, heightening the beat of his heart to a maddening pace and robbing him of his voice. Unable to move, he stood rigidly amidst the water spilling across the floor and flowers lying limp upon fragments of glass. “Who are you?”

Across the room, the man languidly looked up at Kurapika, the darkness of his eyes arresting his gaze and grounding him to the very place he stood. His black hair rivaled his attire, parting evenly over a cross tattoo, a midnight veil over the pallor of his skin. “You can see me.”

Kurapika’s voice rose. “Of course I can—”

“You can see me.” The man’s expression softened into something more readable, a calm yet perplexing sort of fascination. “The living do not see Death, much less speak to it.”

“What the hell,” Kurapika said breathlessly, willing his voice not to falter. There was an intruder in the room, a presence that clearly did not belong here, and he was here for Pairo. “I’m notifying security if you don’t tell me who you are and what you’re doing here right this moment.”

The arch of his brow conveyed his opinion of Kurapika’s tone. He rose from the shadows to approach Kurapika, his footsteps not making a single sound against the floor, and Kurapika instinctively took one step back. It took too much to effort to ignore the graceful hand offered to him, waiting for him to accept it.

“Kuroro Lucifer, god of the underworld.” He stood only a few inches taller than Kurapika, and yet, the proximity of his presence made the air grow heavier, more oppressive. “And you are?”

“Right—and I’m the god of bullshit.” Kurapika ignored the outstretched hand with an unimpressed look. “I don’t know how you managed to get access here, but you are trespassing in my cousin’s room.”

Kuroro shook his head, letting out a resigned sigh. “Consider yourself fortunate that you will witness this.”

He slowly lowered himself on one knee in front of Kurapika, certainly not a position that a god would assume for anyone. At his feet, he lifted one of the flowers from the water and ran his fingers over the red petals.

Vibrance bled from them. Nearly every one fell from the shriveling stem, scattering across the floor and leaving the slightest whiff of decay. Kuroro plucked a lone petal, the last of them all, and it crumbled beneath the pressure of his touch. Kurapika’s face grew as pale as the petals that withered away, and he could not help thinking that he would have suffered the same fate if he had taken Kuroro’s hand.

“I couldn't grow a weed from the richest soils of my realm if I tried,” Kuroro said, a touch of amusement in his tone, but Kurapika failed to find any humor. “Your cousin no longer has time left in this world,” he continued, writing off Pairo’s life as if it were nothing, lacking the years of study and practice that accompanied the physicians at this hospital, “and I am here to guide him to the next life.”

Kurapika would have laughed at the absurdity of his words— _guide_ , as if Pairo would be partaking in a vacation—if not for the air of melancholy that overwhelmed him. His heart only sank, sank, and sank. “I don’t understand.”

He did not believe in another life beyond this one, especially when these words were imparted to him by another stranger, but—the man before him was not truly a man after all. He was not one of those frightful creatures that parents told their children through fictitious stories either. Despite that he appeared only a few years older than Kurapika, his age may as well have been hundreds of times that count, evident in the knowledge of his gaze.

“All souls of the newly deceased are escorted to my realm. The guide assigned to Pairo did not arrive as expected, so I am here in her place.”

“Deceased,” Kurapika repeated, unable to fathom the words that came from Kuroro’s lips, finding himself lightheaded on his feet. Darkness swam at the periphery of his vision and a rising panic stole the breath from his lungs. “Pairo is not—”

Kurapika was at Pairo’s bedside in the next instant, where he always found himself for the last few months. He would not have anyone speak of Pairo as if he was dead, when he was still there, his chest rising and falling with the breaths forced into him by the ventilator. He looked the same, mostly, with brown hair framing the softness of his skin, long lashes brushing against his cheeks. He looked the same, mostly, if not for the warmth that leached from his face, the receding scars over his eyes, reminding Kurapika of his own failure.

His recklessness led them to venture to the outskirts of their homeland, motivated by an endless curiosity to explore the secrets of the secluded forest. He grew weary of the canopy of trees stretching over them, the watchfulness of the forest as if it were alive, so constant and unchanging in the world around them, giving his community comfort and nothing more. It meant breaking the proverbial curse that bound his people to that very forest, but at the cost of Pairo’s eyes, legs, and—

Kurapika’s hand curled around Pairo’s own, trembling as his thumb brushed against Pairo’s knuckle, unwilling to let go. Gone were the days of exploring their ancestral lands, hoping to find a way to the light of the outside world. They sat upon rocks worn smooth by the flowing river, watching small fish swim in the calm, clear surface of the water. They found flowers growing in the most unexpected of places, plucking them and weaving crowns of a myriad of colors. They fell asleep upon tender blades of grass and beds of flowers, and woke to the sound of birdsong and the warmth of sunlight. They knew peace.

Perhaps, Kurapika wanted too much.

“He will not wake up,” Kuroro affirmed from behind him. “What afflicts him is not of mortal doing.”

Kurapika’s head snapped up. “What do you mean?”

“Your healers call it a state of coma, but that is not entirely correct.” Kuroro referenced the book in his hands, full of pages with photographs of individuals, presumably belonging to the souls he had taken. A page was reserved for Pairo. “His body has succumbed to a powerful curse. Perhaps, he wronged a lesser deity and in retribution, they robbed him of his sight and mobility.” Kurapika couldn't think of any sort of wrongdoing Pairo could commit, but he held his tongue until Kuroro continued. “He exists in a state with his life depleting with each passing moment—even with the greatest healers from your realm, he has no prospect of surviving.”

If someone had to be punished, that person should have been Kurapika. He let the revelation sink in, the possibilities now that modern medicine never had a chance of saving Pairo. “Your talk of magic is difficult for me to follow.”

“Not magic,” Kuroro answered, peeved by Kurapika’s speech not for the first time this evening. “It is time for you let him go. The other side will welcome him with open arms.”

“There is time.” Kurapika’s grasp on Pairo’s hand tightened. He was certain that even if he held onto him as tightly as he possibly could, Kuroro would still steal him from his arms. He needed a miracle and did not know if gods offered them. “There is time, and I will not let go when he still breathes. Tell me, are you able to give life as freely as you are able to take it?”

A pause fell upon them, broken only by the sounds of the machinery keeping Pairo’s body alive. Implication finally sunk in, the intent behind Kurapika’s words. “I am not responsible for the doings of other deities nor the lives of mortals who fall victim to them. I am here to bring souls to where they rightfully belong.”

Where Pairo belonged was with Kurapika.

“I would make a bargain with you,” Kurapika said, meeting his Kuroro’s eyes with all of the steadiness he could gather within himself, “if Pairo could live again.”

Kuroro tilted his head thoughtfully. “Why should I listen to you?”

“Because this is not your domain,” Kurapika answered, indifferent to the fact that he was defying the thief, the savior, the king—all of Death himself. He turned to face Kuroro with his entire body, his hand slipping from Pairo’s own, all of his hesitations hardening into resolve. “I couldn't care less about what you call yourself or where you come from. You come to our realm, our world, and you have the audacity to lay your hands on what is not yours.”

“You think that I can bring him back.” His eyes reminded Kurapika of a raven’s, devoid of compassion and feeling. Kurapika searched for a flaw, any kind of flaw within his eyes, but found nothing. “You believe in a false hope.”

It was a desperate thing, thrumming in his blood, enduring deep within his bones, living and breathing on its own, keeping Kurapika from feeling more tired than he had any right to be. His hope was each dream and ambition kept alive, every memory reminding him of his quiet, venerable love for his family. His hope was all the nights he spent alone in Yorknew, knees drawn to his chest as he watched over Pairo, with nothing to say and no tears to spare. His hope was the promise that he would change things, rising from all the grief for the things he could not do, could not accomplish at Pairo’s side.

His hope was all that he had left.

“I will not allow Pairo’s ending to happen like this.” Kurapika’s fists clenched until his knuckles whitened and his fingernails drew blood. His heart was close to beating out of his chest, thrashing beneath his breastbone, so loud that the furious rush of his blood was all he could hear. “Do you know will happen if you dare to take Pairo away from me? Your realm would _burn_ beneath my hands. No one would be safe. Not even you.”

Kurapika wished to believe that they were not words without meaning, of empty promises. Should Pairo die as he was, he was ready to follow Kuroro into the underworld and bring him back, not before leaving his mark on Kuroro’s kingdom and throne.

Something shifted in Kuroro’s gaze, bright with manic now.

“Anything you want,” Kurapika vowed, “I would give it.”

A soft laugh came from Kuroro, a sound that surprised him. “What if I asked for the blood of all the mortals here? What if I wanted all of their souls as an offering? Would you take another life in exchange for his?”

Kurapika’s entire body felt taut, but he managed to answer without hesitation. “Why ask for their lives, when you could have mine?”

“I am a collector, a hoarder of sorts. It should come as no surprise that I would value ten lives over one.”

Kurapika swallowed past the ill feeling in his throat, searching for the proper response. There was no price he was unwilling to pay, but—he could not imagine making the choice if Kuroro truly asked for their souls.

A light smile curved upon Kuroro’s lips. “No. I don’t want their lives. You are quite harsh for believing that of me,” he said wryly. “What kind of being do you take me for?”

A breath escaped Kurapika, but he remained vigilant for his words sounded like half-truths, half-lies. At that moment, he wondered what kind of punishment he would receive if he punched a god in the face. Something much worse than what fell upon Pairo, most likely. He kept his hands perfectly still as he repeated, “Tell me what you want from me.”

“This is no easy feat,” Kuroro revealed. “I don't have the power, nor do other deities have the power, to heal plagues cast by other higher beings. This would involve leveraging the resources of the underworld to develop a physical cure.”

“That’s fine,” Kurapika answered, because all he needed was a miracle.

Kuroro leaned closer to him, and the only color he could find was the turquoise of Kuroro’s odd, orb-shaped earrings. He caught his reflection in them, before bringing his gaze back to meet Kuroro’s own. “Give me what is most precious to him.”

What did Pairo cherish most? He thought carefully of the tangible objects he valued, but he had owned nothing and owed nothing, and—

“Me. I am the most precious person to him,” Kurapika proclaimed, unwavering, and did not need to say _he is the most important to me._  “Nothing could ever compare.”

“You are offering yourself to me.” Kuroro sounded curious, almost pleased.

Deliberately, reverently, he raised his hand and brought it to Kurapika’s cheek, so light that he barely touched him. Kurapika suppressed all movement, not even a flinch, as the cool of Kuroro’s hand met his skin. Unlike the flowers, he did not crumble beneath Kuroro’s touch.

He allowed Kuroro to touch, gently turn his head, study his eyes. He felt very ordinary, painfully human, beneath the fond curiosity of Kuroro’s touch. His earlier observation, when he was astonished by the fact that Kurapika could see him, made him wonder what that was all about.

“The underworld is no place for mortals,” Kuroro said softly. His hand brushed against the blond hair that fell over his cheek, tucking his strands behind his ear. His gaze fell upon the ruby earring on his right ear, a memento from his mother. “None have visited and lived. At the very least, none have visited and remained mortal.”

Kurapika shivered at the implications. The inhabitants of the other world would not present themselves as divinely as Kuroro had. He did not know what became of souls once they passed to the other side and could not grasp if ancient creatures and demons had existed in his realm as well.

“If you accompany me, it may be impossible for you to return to the land of the living.”

Kurapika wanted to say, _try me_. He made his own destiny, daring to defy what the higher beings had planned for him. He would not wither as the flowers did, would not betray his promises, and certainly would not fail a second time.

“Take me there.”

Kuroro stepped away, letting his hand fall to his side. He found a certain page within his book and stretched out his hand, and even Kurapika could feel the sudden rush of power that prickled across his skin. An expansive cloth bloomed into existence, rippling in the air even without wind.

Kurapika didn’t think he could ever get used to such implausible displays of power, but he didn’t have time for a second thought. The cloth descended upon them both, cloaking them in darkness.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I reference the Hades and Persephone myth throughout the rest of this story, although I use it for inspiration rather than exactitude. I am taking extensive liberties with the myth while weaving in familiar aspects of canon. I chose Mulroy's poem as the epigraph, mainly because Persephone has agency and willfully remains with Hades, and partly because of the mention of spider webs and pudding. Sounds rather familiar.
> 
> Kuroro has some traits of Thanatos. There is not one Hermes, but several who serve as guides to the underworld. I'm guessing that Shizuku forgot that she had guide duties for the day, and Kuroro stepped in last minute as a good manager would. :)
> 
> Please leave a comment—I'd love to know what you think of this chapter! You can also reach out to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/seiyunablog) or [Tumblr](http://seiyuna.tumblr.com/).
> 
> Also, I'm hosting a charity [kurokura fanzine](https://kurokura-zine.tumblr.com/post/171541912535/krkr-zine) with my friend. You can purchase it [here](https://gumroad.com/l/kurokura)!


	2. Chapter 2

 

It was as if the earth gave way, swallowing them entirely, and Kurapika landed upon its deepest parts while escaping any of the consequences that should have been incurred from the fall. No shattered bones, no sustained injuries. Eternal darkness stretched before him, full of drowning-deep waters.

All of a sudden, something _lurched_. Kurapika could not get his feet under himself, had less than a second to balance himself before falling into the void. He shut his eyes tight, could already feel himself falling—

A gasp tore from his throat. Hands seized him by the collar of his shirt, pulling him back, and he slammed into a wooden surface, hard enough to steal the air from his lungs. He opened his eyes, shocked by the haze of pain that flooded his senses, relieved of the fear of falling that grasped his heart for the briefest of moments.

The rowboat continued rocking from his impact. A tremor wracked through his bones as he tried to push himself upright, wincing at his skin scraped raw. Beneath him was the wooden floor, peeling under his palms, damp and old enough that it could have been broken through with his landing. The sweet stench of rot made his stomach heave.

Even as he forced himself upward, his stomach roiling with the movement, it was difficult to orient himself with his newfound surroundings—or his lack thereof. He turned to search for Kuroro, and instead, found himself staring into the eyes of what was undeniably inhumane.

A strong sense of vulnerability struck him, making him very aware that he was at the mercy of another being not from his world. The skeleton of a spectral creature floated in his space, belonging to something that could have been either serpentine or piscine—but Kurapika wasn't concerned about that when its face was only a few inches away from his own. Its bones rippled in ribbons of white in the air, luminescent in the darkness.

“Careful,” came a familiar voice, and Kurapika could hardly hear him beyond the sound of his thunderous heartbeat. “They devour flesh and bone.”

“You could have mentioned that earlier,” Kurapika said through gritted teeth. He did not dare to move, did not even spare a glance at Kuroro, as the creature regarded his entire being, circling around the rowboat. A subtle threat twined its every movement, deep black eyes never leaving him. “What the hell is that?”

“Indoor Fish,” Kuroro answered easily. After observing Kurapika and most likely deeming him inappropriate of consumption, the creature descended upon Kuroro in a fluid motion, bathing him in an ethereal glow. He brought a hand to stroke its head fondly, and it responded by pressing its beak against his nose, making him smile. “Beautiful, don’t you think?”

“They’re larger than any fish I’ve seen before, I’ll give you that.”

“You may consider them to be guardians of mine.” It was then that Kurapika realized there was more than one. Another drifted in the air, a doppelgänger of the first, radiating a faint glow in the darkness. “Not all of the newly departed may cross the river Styx. Those unable to pay the boat fare may be left to wander along the river banks, or devoured by the Indoor Fish should they be at risk of becoming ghosts in your realm.”

Kurapika did not know which upset him more. The fact that there was an underlying economic logic to the afterlife? Or the souls who were unable to pass on were simply abandoned? Disposed? Pairo would have suffered an unimaginable fate if he were allowed to pass on as he were.

At his silence, Kuroro turned his head to look behind them. “Isn’t that right, Nobunaga?”

Kurapika narrowed his eyes, following his gaze. For a moment, all he thought around them was the thick darkness of the river, flowing broadly and endlessly. An abyss of black that he could not stare at for long. It beckoned him to enter, to fall, to allow it to engulf him. 

A rustle sounded in the stillness. Mostly hidden by the shadows, a cloaked figure was sitting at the bow of the rowboat, pushing a long oar into the river. Kurapika was ashamed at his inattention, unprepared for another encounter with some other otherworldly creature. Unexpectedly, the hood of the black cloak was lowered, exposing the face of a man. 

“Boss, I’m getting too old for this. We agreed that you would stop appearing out of nowhere.” His worn, sunken visage was framed by the fall of his long, black hair. With a single, exasperated breath, he set a metal lantern at his side ablaze, casting a warm glow upon their faces. “Who’s this?”

“A companion of mine, but don’t mind us too much.” Kuroro reached into the pocket of his slacks and pulled out a large gold coin. A twelve-legged spider was etched upon its surface. “Does Kurapika need to pay the fare?”

Nobunaga considered the offer for a moment, then waved him away. “Save it. Next time, pay me properly when I actually come to pick you up.” 

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Instead of returning the coin to his pocket, Kuroro reached for Kurapika’s hand, placing the coin in his palm. He closed his hand around Kurapika’s own, a gesture for him to keep the coin, and oddly enough, did not move away. When Kurapika gave him a pointed glare, he already had his face turned, presenting Kurapika with the lines of his profile, not quite looking at him. “I would have appeared elsewhere, but the Fun Fun Cloth does not always work the way it is meant to.”

Shaking his head at the excuse, Nobunaga continued rowing without further complaint. They drifted slowly across the river with no apparent end in sight, and all Kurapika could smell was air thick with stagnant water. The glow of the lantern increased visibility of their surroundings, revealing stalactites hanging above them, dripping like melted wax. The pair of Indoor Fish followed closely behind them, so pale and phantasmal in nature, but their bones scraped against the protruding rock formations on the walls, akin to the serrated edge of a blade. The cracking of rocks accompanied by the sound of dripping water, convinced Kurapika that they were of solid composition.

Nobunaga navigated through the underground darkness with ease, making it clear that he had passed through these lands time and time again. It was uncertain if he, too, was of divine origin when he addressed Kuroro with such familiarity.

Another realization startled Kurapika, making him turn to Kuroro. “I never told you my name.”

“I know all,” came Kuroro’s answer, accompanied by a small, secretive smile. The notion that Kuroro’s knowledge encompassed certain aspects of him, when he knew nothing about Kuroro’s world at all, bothered him greatly. As if Kuroro were reading his thoughts, he gestured with his free hand in Nobunaga’s direction. “This is the ferryman of souls, Nobunaga.”

Kurapika was reminded of a gondolier propelling a boat across Venetian waters, except for the fact that he was not on a romantic gondola ride with a significant other, but holding hands with the god of the underworld. Kuroro’s thumb brushed against his knuckles, and his skin felt soothed, relieved of any lingering pain from his fall. A strange sense of security followed, when he should have felt anything but. He peered down at where their hands connected, surprised to find faint scratches instead of torn skin, fresh blood.

“What brings you here, Kurapika? People like you don’t belong in these parts.” With a deep frown, Nobunaga cast a questioning glance to Kuroro. “He didn’t kidnap you, did he?”

“I came here by my own will,” Kurapika assured, looking to Kuroro for some kind of validation. There were many aspects about Kuroro that should have worried him, but abduction did not have a place on his list. “I don’t actually know what I’ll be doing here.”

On the other hand, Kuroro seemed to know. When all wounds faded from Kurapika’s hand, his skin renewed, Kuroro’s hand slipped away. Kurapika turned his hand palm up, closing and opening his hand, considering the smooth metal of the coin against his skin. For someone who could steal the essence of life, he was able to heal as easily as he did. 

“We will head to Geru’s apothecary first. It is my hope that she will assist us in finding a cure for Kurapika’s friend.”

“The witch doctor,” Nobunaga scoffed.

“She is more than that,” Kuroro affirmed, for Kurapika’s sake more than anything else. “Many revere her as a goddess of poison and witchcraft. She’s very knowledgeable about poisonous plants and medicinal herbs, unrivaled in her healing capabilities in the underworld. If there’s anyone who knows about powerful curses, it will be her.”

“I’m glad that you have a plan,” Kurapika said wryly. He tucked away the coin in his pocket, uncertain if it would be of use in the future. “There are others who hold as much power as you do?”

“Some come very close in the underworld, but none have as much sovereignty as I do. With our different capabilities, we work in tandem.” Kuroro’s casual tone, his relaxed posture against the side of the boat, belied the power of his presence. “There are guides responsible for escorting the souls of the deceased to our realm. Nobunaga carries these souls across the river to the underworld. From there, they are delivered judgment and sent to one of three different planes depending on their actions in their previous life.” He held up three fingers for emphasis, slightly different from the Heaven-Hell dichotomy that most people would have expected. “The other chthonic deities serve as my attendants while I reign over all planes of the underworld.” 

It sounded more like all of them had clear responsibilities except for Kuroro, but Kurapika did not make his thoughts known.

“A King without a Queen.” Nobunaga studied them closely, paying particular attention to Kuroro’s attire. Despite their earlier landing, there were no wrinkles on his black suit, still impeccably tailored to his body. “Forgive me if I’m mistaken, but does this mean Kurapika isn’t your consort? You’re dressed as if you’re attending a wedding for mortals.”

Kurapika flushed. “I’m not—”

A chill traveled down his spine, making his mind race with the possibilities. Kuroro had no right to make him _anything_ , but with his life bound to Kuroro’s own from their earlier exchange, he could make him his consort.

Kuroro only chuckled at this. “No, he isn’t.”

“That’s a shame. The underworld was never meant to be your burden alone.” Nobunaga swerved the rowboat at the nearest bend. The flame of the lantern wavered, perhaps reacting to the air, meaning that they were approaching the end of the cave. A deep sigh escaped him. “Instead of seeking a consort, you’re going to great lengths to bring a mortal here.”

Before an answer came, an intense light flooded the cave, blinding Kurapika momentarily. The cool underground gave way to warm air, a breeze stirring his hair as the world weighed in on him again. The sky was tinged rouge, reflecting in the surface of the river. Around them, branches of ancient cypress trees dipped into the river, their leaves scattered across the waters. The shore was obscured by a thick mist, but Kurapika could make out the outline of a massive structure rising in the distance.

“The Palace of Hades is up ahead,” Nobunaga pointed out. “It sits between the three main planes of the underworld, very close to the Plains of Judgement. I wouldn’t take you to the more unpleasant areas of the underworld unless you wanted to see them. It would have to be another time, though.”

It became clear that their journey across the river was not a typical one. There were no wandering souls to be seen near the shore, no frightening beasts welcoming them as they neared the palace. “Do you need to leave so soon?”

“Death never takes a break.” Nobunaga sighed with the exasperation of an overworked subordinate. “If you need me, all you need to do is call. Boss knows how to reach me.” 

The rowboat bumped against the wooden docks. Kuroro climbed out of the boat first, stretching out a hand to receive Kurapika, but it was unnecessary. Kurapika followed without any assistance, giving one last nod to their ferryman.

Nobunaga made a courtly gesture, inclining his head towards them, before pushing the rowboat from the dock. The pair of Indoor Fish turned as well, following the boat across the river as Nobunaga left to receive the souls awaiting his arrival.

“He seemed disappointed,” Kurapika said with a frown.

“I expected him to be more upset by the fact that I brought you here.” An amused sound rumbled from Kuroro’s chest. “Rather, he was disappointed that you are not my partner. Why do you think he refused when I attempted to pay the boat fare on your behalf?”

“I doubt your fellow gods would be pleased if you wed a mortal.”

“They would be pleased if I wed anyone,” Kuroro answered, giving him a wry smile. As if to make a point, his hand wandered to Kurapika’s hair, his fingers sliding through his locks and marking a pause at the back of his neck. The caress of his fingertips was light, gentle, and yet, Kurapika didn’t think that he could relax with his touch, when his throat could easily be crushed with those fingers. All he knew was that Kuroro’s influence had spread wide and far in this realm, and he possessed unimaginable power in the palm of his hands. “I have ruled alone for thousands of years now, without a partner, without an heir.” His hand slid down the nape of Kurapika’s neck, from the ends of his hair. “Come, I will show you the palace.”

As Kuroro turned away, Kurapika absently brought a hand up to brush against where he was touched, trying to ease the tension there. The mist curled around him like an acrid smoke that never left his skin, his clothes. Suppressing a shiver, he followed Kuroro through the haze.

The fields were separated by a wide path, leading up to the towering structure of black marble. Stalks rose from the grass, bountiful with white blossoms at the ends, making him wonder how they could grow when they were so far beneath the earth.

A rush of wind swept across the fields, bending the stalks in the direction of the endless river, carrying the sweet scent of the flowers he had never seen before. There was an absence of birds singing from the trees, crickets chirping from the grass. Silence reigned here. 

They were only a few steps away from the looming walls of the palace, the color of fear and nightmare, rising high into the sky as if it could reach the earth. As Kuroro gave him a reassuring glance, as if Kurapika’s silence had warranted it, he held onto his conviction to sear away all doubts. He followed Kuroro through the main entrance, his footsteps echoing against marble, surrounded by an even more profound silence. 

High overhead, a glass chandelier shed light upon the entrance hall, resplendent with clear crystal droplets. At the center of the hall, a grand spiraling staircase stretched to both the upper and the lower floors, surrounded by stark white pillars. Tapestries hung on the walls, reminiscent of the paintings found in fine art museums, telling stories of monstrous creatures and warriors from an unfathomable age. Kurapika made a note to study them another time, to see if Kuroro was the kind of person to have his own face upon his artwork. He stilled beneath the bright light of chandelier, feeling underdressed for the first time since arriving in Yorknew, only clad in a simple dress shirt and slacks that he had adopted as casual attire.

“I don’t live here by myself. There are too many rooms even for my attendants,” Kuroro explained. There were several doors on either side of the hall without any explanation of where they led. They were marked with the familiar symbol of the twelve-legged spider, only with different numbers etched upon the body. “And even I don’t know what all of them hold. Be careful not to get lost.”

Kurapika nodded. “Where are we going?” 

“The apothecary is located in the floor below. I would like to introduce you to Geru first, then a few of my attendants.” Kuroro wore an apologetic expression. “Geru’s a bit of a peculiar personality, but she means well.”

“None could be more peculiar than you,” Kurapika said flatly, earning a soft laugh from Kuroro.

Together, they descended the staircase. Kurapika ensured that each step was a certain one, the sound of his shoes echoing against each stair, like stones dropping and rippling in water. At the end of the hallway was a dimly lit room, emanating an earthy scent that reminded Kurapika of the fields outside. As the door was open, they both peered in.

“Geru?”

A woman whirled around in the midst of stocking her shelves. A collection of vials and bottles lined the walls, some clearly labeled, others lacking any indication of their contents. Books stacked against each other like bricks against one of the shelves. Vines stretched over the walls, the way ivy would over castle walls, with night-blooming flowers radiating a soft light throughout the room. “Your Majesty. And who—?”

“Kurapika of the mortal realm,” Kuroro said. “We’re here for a favor.”

She stepped closer to study Kurapika, her teal eyes bright like polished stones. Her long figure was clothed in a black gown, accentuating the lines of her body and exposing the swell of her chest. Black hair pooled over her shoulders, down her back. Her posture expressed a curious interest toward him, akin to a snake considering a rat for her next meal.

“Your eyes are very beautiful,” Geru said politely.

“Oh.” Kurapika’s eyes were the same as the people of his clan, an unexceptional taupe shade, if he had to compare himself to the peculiar color of Geru’s eyes. “Thank you?”

She gestured over to the back walls, where body parts and plants were suspended within clear liquid in containers of various sizes. “They would look wonderful with my collection.”

As he grew pale, Kuroro quickly interjected. “She doesn’t really mean that. I promise.”

If her comment was truly meant in jest, she did not laugh. She blinked slowly, her long lashes fluttering against her cheeks. “I haven’t seen a living mortal for many years now, so I apologize if I offended you. What can I do for you?”

“Time runs short for a child of the Kurta Clan. His life is very close to slipping into our realm,” Kuroro stated. “We need an antidote, one dispels an ensorcellment on the eyes and legs.”

There was a brief pause, as if to consider why Kuroro would request such a thing, before she answered. “Yes, I believe I can do that. You will need to bring me few ingredients, though, since I haven’t had to create something so potent for centuries now. Let me see what I have.” 

Geru went to her desk, procuring a notebook and a fountain pen. She searched through her shelves, counting her inventory and murmuring names to herself. “Euphrasia flowers, to treat his sight—on the top shelf.” As soon as she lifted her hand, the shadows from the walls took the form of serpents. The creatures flickered as they lifted a paper bag on the topmost shelf, slithering down to where she stood and offering it to her. She had conquered the shadows and made them her servants. “Dew of the sea, found on sea cliffs—there we go. Blood of the Gorgon—oh, not this one. I need blood that flows from the right side of the Gorgon to heal the boy. Blood from the left side would kill him immediately.” The shadows bowed in an apologetic manner before retrieving the correct vial for her. “Nectar, the drink of the gods—thank you very much.”

After gathering the bags and glass vials in her hands, she set them down on her desk, where they both waited. She tore the page from her notebook and handed it over to Kuroro. “There are a few more things I require. I can keep these ingredients here while you bring me the rest.

Kurapika peered over to review the paper with Kuroro. Four more items had not been crossed off from the list.

“Asphodel flowers are easy enough. Just head outside and bring me a few stalks.”

“Venom of the Lernaean Hydra will take much more effort,” Kuroro said, his brows raised high.

“Hydra?” His words sounded like madness to Kurapika. These creatures were found in old myths and fantasy novels, not _here_. “The monsters that regenerate?”

Geru nodded firmly, and the serpentine shadows on the walls molded into a creature with nine heads. “Yes, you could die trying to slay one of them. If you sever one of its heads, know that two more will grow in its place.” She procured a few empty vials for the purpose of these ingredients, packing them into a small pouch for them. “If you _do_ manage to live, you will also need to procure the tears of the Cocytus River nymph, as well as the ichor of Demeter. I don’t know how willing those two would be willing to part with what we need, but I can’t help you there.”

Kuroro frowned deeply. “Are those last two truly necessary?”

“Lukso Province is under the goddess Demeter’s protection. If you plan to save a child of the Kurta Clan, you will need her power.”

Kurapika thought over her words carefully, but still did not comprehend. “I’ve never heard of my people worshiping a goddess.”

“Deities fade over time,” Geru murmured, “when mortals stop believing in them. Perhaps your ancestors did centuries ago.”

“None have heard from her for some time now,” Kuroro affirmed. He picked up the pouch, careful enough to avoid breaking any of the delicate glass. “Alright—if these items are what you need, then I’ll retrieve them all. But I’m surprised that you aren’t discouraging us from going.”

“I’m hoping that you will bring back an excess for me. These ingredients are difficult to come by.”

Kuroro huffed a laugh. He was unexpectedly devoted to his agreement with Kurapika and meant to see it through. This world still held many surprises for Kurapika, unfathomable dangers, but Kuroro’s promise gave him undeniable comfort.

Geru beckoned only Kurapika towards to her. “One more thing.”

With a questioning look, Kurapika followed her to the back of the room. He threw a sidelong glance at Kuroro, but only received a shrug in response. With their backs turned to Kuroro, she pulled out a faceted vial from a drawer, filled with a bright crimson liquid, and placed it into Kurapika’s palm. 

“What’s this?”

“An aphrodisiac,” came her sibilant whisper. “His Majesty may have us as his friends, but I’m certain that loneliness plagues him at night. You can use this—”

“I don’t—” Kurapika struggled to keep his voice low, horrified by her wild imagination. “I don’t need _this_.”

She urged the vial into his hands anyway. “Please keep it as a gift from me. Alright?”

Kurapika swallowed what he had to say. Under no circumstances would this ever be useful, but the vial was slipped into his pocket anyway, if only to appease Geru’s insistence.

“Good luck, you two.” A small smile graced her lips for the first time that day. “I’m hoping that you will return successfully.”

The shadow creatures loomed behind Kuroro, forming a ridiculous heart shape over his head without his notice, and it took everything for Kurapika to ignore them. “We’ll be back.”

As they left the apothecary, Kuroro asked, “Did she say something? Your face is all flushed.” 

“Nothing.” The warmth surely spread all the way down his neck, and he was painfully conscious of Kuroro’s weighted gaze at his back while he walked ahead of him. “Nothing at all.”

After Kurapika was uncertain of where he was headed, they ascended to the second floor of the palace, in order for Kuroro to gather his belongings for the journey. One of the rooms had a plain door, free of any markings, and Kuroro asked him to wait inside there. 

It was an uninhabited chamber with a four-poster bed in the center. The scent of old books filled the air, and Kurapika withheld himself from looking through the bookshelves against the wall. A lighting fixture fashioned from iron and glass hung vertically from the ceiling, like a flowering branch, full of leaves and glittering crystals. A mirror on the opposite side of the bed reflected its illumination, bending the light in various facets throughout the room. The furnishings could have been forged by mortal hands, but if they belonged to an older age, then perhaps they were crafted by a greater power. 

Just as he sat down on the bed, a knock arrived at the door. 

“Come in?”

The door creaked open. Instead of Kuroro, a tall woman appeared in a diaphanous dress, as pale as spider-silk, the color accentuating her blond hair. She looked like every bit of the goddess she appeared to be, and he did not know what privilege he had to be in her company. Kurapika immediately stood, but she dipped into a curtsy before him.

“You must be Kurapika,” she said, rising with a soft smile. She tucked her hair behind her ear, where white flowers had been woven into her hair. “My name is Pakunoda. His Majesty requested that I ensure you are comfortable here.”

“Yes,” Kurapika answered slowly. “Everything’s fine. Too comfortable, if I must be honest. I expected much more conflict with my arrival, given that I am not like you all.”

“I presume that His Majesty bestowed upon you a mark.” Slightly raising the slit of her dress, Pakunoda exposed her right leg, where the twelve-legged spider was inked upon her skin. “This would protect you from harm or influence.”

“No,” Kurapika began. “No, I don’t think—”

Pakunoda tapped two fingers against the side of her neck, and immediately, he rushed to the mirror. He stared at his reflection, brushing his hair over his shoulder, turning around to inspect the nape of his neck from a different angle.

Right where Kuroro had placed his hand, there was a cross that appeared exactly like the one upon Kuroro’s forehead, all crisp black lines against his skin. He traced the cross with his finger, had all of the lines memorized, but it did not smudge the way ink would. It wasn’t just any mark, wasn’t a spider, but— 

Kuroro’s mark.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What do you think so far? I couldn't help but tease Kurapika a bit throughout this chapter, just to lighten things up.
> 
> Nobunaga's mythological counterpart is Charon, the ferryman of the dead. Meanwhile, I gave both Geru and Pakunoda traits of the goddess Hecate. 
> 
> I've never really written fantasy before, but hopefully slaying monsters will go well for these two. 
> 
> Please leave a comment! You can also reach out to me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/seiyunablog) or [Tumblr](http://seiyuna.tumblr.com/).
> 
> As a reminder, I'm hosting a charity [kurokura fanzine](https://kurokura-zine.tumblr.com/post/171541912535/krkr-zine) with my friend. You can purchase it [here](https://gumroad.com/l/kurokura)!


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